


Office Hours

by werelupewoods



Category: Neopets
Genre: Gen, ah well, dammit we still haven't come to an agreement on a last name for ludwig huh LOL, just posting this here cus my old blog's toast pfft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 13:23:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16619774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werelupewoods/pseuds/werelupewoods
Summary: " If it was seven, six, even five in the evening, Ambroise wouldn’t have cared in the slightest about the company. Ludwig has been a very dear friend of his and his family’s for well over twenty years now, and he’s grown rather fond of the irritable Gnorbu’s archetypal strictness and cynicism, but… well, again, it’s barely three in the afternoon. Office hours. And during office hours, only business talk is allowed, which is a fact that Ludwig is well aware of. So, no, unfortunately, he can’t be here for the sake of any sort of company; he’s here because he has business to discuss.…Which is something that Ambroise had had enough of about three heated phone calls ago. "Something I wrote a while ago cus I wanted to show Ambroise being a scary business lizard; posting it here now cus my blog's officially been sacrificed to appease the Moon or smthn, pfft.





	Office Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Ludwig belongs to Jammy~!! ;w;

_Knock, knock-knock, knock-knock._

The sound’s pattern is heavy and distinct enough that Ambroise knows exactly who’s at his office door without even needing to look up — without needing to see the intimidatingly tall silhouette through the frosted glass. It’s barely three in the afternoon, but today’s already been a week and a half’s worth of hell, and the exhausted Darigan Krawk  _really_  doesn’t want to have to deal with any  _extra_ work-related conversations today… But, still, despite the groan in his throat that’s begging to sound, Ambroise simply gives a short huff and says, “You may come in, Ludwig.”

If it was seven, six, even five in the evening, Ambroise wouldn’t have cared in the slightest about the company. Ludwig has been a very dear friend of his and his family’s for well over twenty years now, and he’s grown rather fond of the irritable Gnorbu’s archetypal strictness and cynicism, but… well, again, it’s barely three in the afternoon. Office hours. And during office hours, only business talk is allowed, which is a fact that Ludwig is well aware of. So, no, unfortunately, he can’t be here for the sake of any sort of company; he’s here because he has business to discuss.

…Which is something that Ambroise had had enough of about three heated phone calls ago.

But, well, it  _is_  his job, after all — listening to his employees, or whatever — so he simply continues reading over one of the summer intern applications he has set in front of him while Ludwig, nervously clearing his throat, opens the heavy door, then ducks slightly under the doorframe to cross the threshold and enter the lavishly spacious office.

Ambroise raises his eyes for only a split second to give Ludwig a soft smile in greeting — which is returned with a quick but respectful nod — and clears his throat. He takes a sip of the tea set on his desk in front of him, then gestures across the desk with his free hand. “Have a seat anywhere. What can I help you with?”

Ludwig takes hold of one of the chairs that rest against the wall to his left and pulls it in front of Ambroise’s desk, still somewhat mentally preparing himself for this conversation. He’s been, understandably, wildly on edge for the past day or so — ever since getting… the call… — and, although Ambroise is a wonderfully kind-hearted, understanding, and even self-sacrificial person in almost all facets life… well, business is not one of those facets. When it comes to business, if someone’s proposition doesn’t immediately strike his fancy, Ambroise has been known to turn into the cruellest and most cold-hearted of reptiles — …pun totally intended. Ludwig’s been dreading this discussion for hours. But… well, he tries to have faith. Tries to. Tries.

Once Ludwig’s managed to sit somewhat-comfortably, Ambroise clicks open a pen and begins to mark up the paper he has set in front of him. Ludwig, too, now clears his throat, trying to decide on the best way to word his statement. Finally, “I wanted to discuss some… finances with you, Ambroise,” Ludwig says, somehow managing to maintain his typical cocky-sounding cadence despite his nerves. “I have a request of sorts.”

 _Great…_  Ambroise takes his time finishing marking up the paragraph of the application he’s reading over, then hums a bit. “Alright, shoot,” he says casually.

Ludwig takes a breath. “I would like to request a pay raise.”

“No.”

…Well.

 _That_ was curt.

The response is said with such immediate and absolute finality that Ludwig almost can’t comprehend it. His next words get caught in his throat. He stutters a bit. “Y—… W-wh—” He changes his mind on every sentence. He doesn’t want to sound too snippy. Ambroise just continues writing. Finally, Ludwig decides to simply… try again. “Ambroise, please, this is a rather serious matter…”

The twinge of desperation in his voice is foreign enough that it catches Ambroise a bit off-guard, but he still has a million miles to be moved before he will even  _begin_  to humour the notion. He decides to cut out any and all middleman and go directly for the heart of the topic: “Why do you think you deserve a raise in your pay?”

The question is worded in a rather demeaning way, sure, but… well, honestly, Ludwig is more upset because this is the part of the conversation he was dreading the most. It’s a sensitive subject, after all, and personal as hell. God forbid his voice cracks…

Ambroise flips the page of the document set before him. Ludwig clears his throat once more. He tries to use his most professional and neutral of language as he begins his explanation. “Some, ah… incredibly unfortunate circumstances just arose, and… well, quite frankly, Lawrence and I have gotten ourselves in a bit of a financial pinch.”

Ambroise stops writing mid-word. That’s a bad sign. He then holds his eyes shut as he inhales long. That’s a _worse_ sign.

Once Ambroise begins writing again, Ludwig breathes deep, then continues his explanation. “I… I got a call last night from the Meri Oaks hospital informing me that… that my mother had just been admitted for emergency treatment of what could have been a fatal stroke.” His words at the end were rushed, but… well, at least he got the hardest sentence out. Ambroise pauses in his writing again, a bit more sombrely in motive this time, but then continues. And so does Ludwig. “They said it’s… a miracle that she was even able to call for help in her condition,” he says, “let alone to be able to actually… actually  _communicate_  well enough to get help to her home.” Pause. “But, um…” Well… now he’s venting more than he is explaining. Which doesn’t belong in this office. He decides to skip the sob story clauses and get right to the point. “Well, her condition is… not good,” he continues, trying his best to keep his emotions from taking hold of his throat. “It was… i-it’s bad enough that the staff have all agreed she can’t really be living on her own anymore — that… that she shouldn’t have been on her own  _in the first place_ , even. She needs to be placed in hospice care.”

Ambroise closes the document he’s been writing in, then slides it to the side, pulling another form from the short stack of papers on his right and setting it in front of him in the same motion. It’s an almost offensively dismissive gesture, but Ludwig does his best to ignore it and simply waits for a response.

It’s an awkwardly long pause, though — as if Ambroise is expecting him to continue. And, indeed, when the Krawk finally looks back up to meet Ludwig’s gaze, he seems surprised that that’s the end of it. “So… you can’t afford it, is that it?” he asks.

Ludwig nods solemnly. “We, ah…” He gathers his thoughts. “Lawrence and I were both a bit… careless with our spending recently,” he says, sounding somewhat ashamed. “He just got his new car, and we signed a raise in our loans so we could finally finish paying off our mortgage, and now with the baby on the way and Lawrence needing to take time off of work soon for that, we just… We simply don’t have enough to make all of our payments  _and_  pay for adequate medical treatment, so—”

“So you’re asking for  _raise…?_ ”

It’s said almost mockingly.

And again, Ludwig is taken slightly aback by Ambroise’s tone.

But he forces himself to swallow his pride — this is _beyond_ important, after all. He scrambles to lessen the blow of the request. “Just… just until we can finish paying off our mortgage,” he says, hoping that that helps. “We only have a few months left, and then—”

“How much is left for you to pay off?”

Finally, a glimmer of hope. The rest of Ludwig’s sentence catches, but then, slightly more energetic — but still a bit off-guard, since he wasn’t really expecting  _this_  particular question to be asked — he stammers a bit before answering, “Only… only a few months’ instalments, so… so, like, fifteen-million-something—”

“ _Exact_ numbers, Ludwig.”

Pause. “I… I don’t know the exact number off the top of my head.”

Ambroise underlines something aggressively, then finally raises his eyes. His expression is somewhat scornful. “You come here wanting to discuss finances and you don’t even have proper numbers on hand…?” he asks, the question’s end drawling.

_…Shit, that’s a good point._

“Um… one… uh, one second…” Ludwig scrambles to pull his phone from his coat pocket to check his bank balances. Thankfully, the app was already open since he was trying to crunch numbers earlier — trying to prepare slightly for this conversation. Not enough, clearly, but still. It doesn’t take too long to find the statement. “The number is… fifteen million, four thousand, five hundred, and eleven neopoints, all closing fees included,” he says with a firm nod.

Ambroise, too, gives a nod of acknowledgement, but otherwise just continues his writing.

Silence.

Ludwig wants to wait patiently, but… “So…?”

Ambroise turns the page; then, “The answer is still no, Ludwig.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Ludwig is so offended by the blatant dismissal, the one-word response is almost shouted.

Ambroise jumps a bit, then looks up at the Gnorbu in a bit of shock… but his expression then immediately hardens. “I said  _no_ ,” he reaffirms sternly.

Ludwig’s expression is enough of an apology for his outburst — he looks even more surprised and horrified than Ambroise does, honestly — so Ambroise simply shakes his head slightly and goes back to looking over his documents. Ludwig stutters again. He doesn’t know what to say. Why the hell did he ask for numbers then? Was he… just being cruel? “Ambroise, please, this is im—”

“What this  _is_ ,” Ambroise interrupts, “is not a  _business_  matter.” His words are matter-of-fact. He opens a drawer and pulls out a small calculator while Ludwig begins to stutter once more. “Not to mention,” Ambroise continues, quickly punching in a few numbers, “from what I understand, you are already receiving  _quite_  a generous pay…”

Ludwig exhales hard. “Things are  _drastically_  changing now, though, an—”

“A shift in your home life is no call for a raise in pay on your employer’s end,” Ambroise again interrupts, his voice finally softening a bit with the words, though the sound is hardly reassuring given the context. “If you had been, for example, staying late to help the custodians clean the theatre, or putting in extra unpaid hours to help dancers with their routines, things of that kind, then that would be call for a raise,  _not_ your lack of frugality leaving you unable to afford your bills.”

Ludwig can’t believe what he’s hearing. He thought they were friends, but this…? “Are… are you kidding me?”

“No, Ludwig, I am not,” Ambroise says, again very matter-of-fact, his typically-pleasant timbre turning to that awful, sarcastic tone he gets when he’s growing irritated but doesn’t want to show it. He opens another drawer and pulls out a small black booklet, setting it down on the desk to his left. “This is an issue of your  _own_  doing,  _not_ your employer’s.”

Ludwig has to clench his teeth. He was already on edge emotionally, far before even getting here, and this is not helping… “It’s… it’s only for a few more months,” he continues trying to bargain, “just until our mortgage is—”

“No.”

And then Ludwig can’t hold his tongue. “Ambroise, my mother is  _dying_.”

“And that does  _not_ affect this theatre.”

He can’t fucking believe this. His voice shakes. “But it affects  _me!_ ”

“And  _you_  are not a necessary component of this theatre  _either._ ”

The words are like a kick to the teeth. He can’t be serious. He can’t be. After all the years they’ve known each other, this is what it’s come to…?

Ambroise has finally raised his gaze completely, the eeriness of his naturally red-tinted sclera glinting in the afternoon light. He looks Ludwig dead in the eyes as he says what is probably the most painful thing Ludwig has ever heard come out of the Krawk’s mouth: “There are  _hundreds_  of  _more_ -qualified dance instructors and choreographers out there who would  _kill_  for your position. You are  _not_ pivotal. And this is  _not_  a business matter.”

And, just to add insult to injury — or, well, injury to insult, in this case — after he’s said those scathing words, Ambroise simply and casually pulls the black booklet over in front of him and flips it open, beginning to write something down inside, his motions slow and precise.

Ludwig doesn’t know if he’s more hurt or embarrassed anymore. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to  _do_. He can’t even comprehend his own racing thoughts, let alone take in the full brunt of what Ambroise has just said to him. He sits in stunned silence. He has to look away. He can’t believe this. What did he do to deserve this…?

A few moments pass as Ambroise continues writing — looks over to his calculator, then back to his booklet, all in a horribly deafening silence.

Finally, unable to come up with any sort of other response, Ludwig just shakes his head. He refuses to believe this is really happening, but… well, there’s nothing else he can really do, he supposes. Ambroise is the boss, after all. “I’m…” Pause. He shakes his head again. Then, “I’m… sorry for wasting your time,” he says, pulling his coat tighter around his chest, preparing to stand up to leave.

But then he hears a quick tearing sound, quickly followed by Ambroise sliding something across the desk to him. The sound of paper brushing across wood catches his attention, and he looks down to see what he’s being handed.

As if he wasn’t stunned enough by this whole debacle, or wounded enough by those horrible words, what he then sees in front of him is enough to nearly render him entirely mute:

_A check…?_

“Wh—…” Ludwig can’t really speak. Can’t  _at all_ speak, honestly. He leans forward awkwardly just to make sure he isn’t imagining things, then lifts his gaze slightly to meet Ambroise’s eyes. The Krawk lets go of the small slip of paper and leans back in his seat, sighing in frustration, giving Ludwig that _look_  he gets when he’s sick of someone’s bullshit but loves them too much to really do or say anything serious about it.

Ambroise shakes his head slightly as Ludwig grabs the check and holds it up to examine it further, still slightly — but very, very obviously — in disbelief. Right across the middle, there’s the exact number he’d stated earlier —  _fifteen million four thousand five hundred and eleven neopoints_  — clear as day, in perfect script; and, underneath the numbers, written in beautiful cursive on the memo line:  _Stop talking back to me >:(_

“Pay off your mortgage and take care of your mother,” Ambroise says, sighing a bit with the words, and Ludwig has to catch his breathing in his free hand to prevent any embarrassingly overemotional sounds from slipping. This was…  _way_  more than he expected.  _Leagues_  more. He doesn’t know what to say.

When Ludwig looks up again, fighting the burning in his eyes, he sees that Ambroise’s expression has finally softened back to the gentle and caring one that Ludwig is far more used to seeing — used to seeing around home, or after late-night rehearsals, or across a dinner table. A friendly expression. A familiar one. “Listen, Lou,” Ambroise says, sitting back a bit more, “I keep business and personal matters  _completely_  separate. You more than most should know that very well. And you should  _also_  know better than to try muddling the two. That’s, like… the easiest way to irritate me.”

Ludwig is still speechless. He would apologise — because, yes, it’s true, he really should and  _does_ know better — but his voice is still catching. He just nods quickly.

Ambroise sighs a bit, then leans forward slightly. “You are one of my and my family’s dearest friends,” he says, “and I will always do everything I can to help you in situations as dire as this. Not as an employer, but as a _friend_ —  _ty ponimayesh?_ ”

Again, all Ludwig can do is nod.

Ambroise takes a few moments to breathe before continuing. He  _hates_ seeing Ludwig like this — showing  _emotion…_  other than anger, that is… It’s rare, and it’s honestly somewhat unsettling to see, even in positive contexts like this one. But, well… “Dance instructors are a dime a dozen,” Ambroise again continues, “but you  _as a person_  are not. The world of business has no time for picking favourites, but nobody could ever replace you or all that you have done in the context of… of friends and family — _da?_ ”

Nod, nod, nod. Ludwig fiddles with the paper in his hands. He still can’t bring himself to speak.

Ambroise sighs again, then his voice finally turns a bit teasing — another familiar, familial sound. “I am  _offended_  that you felt the need to ask for money through  _business_  means rather than just as your friend, Ludwig — did you really think I wouldn’t help you out with something as serious as this? Am I  _really_ that off-putting?”

Ludwig makes a bit of a face, trying not to laugh, though the expression remains hidden behind his palm. He gives an awkward shrug — reflexive, mostly. Finally, he remembers how to speak, but the only phrase he manages to say is a gawky, “I… I guess I just… didn’t… think you would… care that much…?”

“Oy, _zatknis_ ,” Ambroise cusses loudly, “of  _course_  I would — the hell would make you think that I  _wouldn’t?_ ”

Sheesh, he really  _does_ sound genuinely offended…

Ignoring that realisation, though — and the slight twinge of guilt that comes gratis — Ludwig just shrugs awkwardly again. Stutter, stutter, stutter; then, “I… I don’t know, I just… just…”

He can’t really finish that thought though. He looks into his hand one more time, then back up to Ambroise — who  _still_ has that frustratedly loving expression on his face — then finally takes the deepest breath he can. “Thank you, Ambroise,” he says, his voice full of an almost completely unheard of warmth… for him, at least. “You… you don’t know how much this means to me…”

Ambroise bats a hand, finally looking back down at the papers set in front of him and picking up his pen again. “Just ask me about these sorts of things over dinner next time,” he says, “ _not_  during office hours.”

Ludwig rolls his eyes slightly.

Pause.

A  _long_  pause.

Then, “Would… you like to come over for dinner later, Ambroise?”

Silence.

Ambroise pauses in his writing, then slowly looks back up to meet Ludwig’s eyes once more.

Finally, there’s some semblance of normalcy there again.

Thank god — he can’t afford to get emotional before five thirty…

Ambroise raises a sarcastic brow, then looks up to the clock to his left — breathes deep, exhales in a huff, looks back, then smiles snarkily. “You  _do_  realise that, by inviting me, you are  _also_  inviting Shimon and Oliver, right?” he asks, only half-jokingly. “Maybe even Neil and the boys if they don’t feel like babysitting?”

Ludwig rolls his eyes  _wholly_  this time. “I’ll… live through the volume,” he mumbles, irritated — which for him, of course, is just normal. “It’s the least I can do.”

Ambroise snickers slightly, finally breathing out the rest of his frustration. If we’re being honest, he’s got just a  _bit_ too much work to complete tonight for him to be setting aside time for socialisation, but…

With only the tiniest hint of resignation, Ambroise finally sighs. “Seven fifteen?” he asks, smiling softly.

And Ludwig, for once, matches the expression. “Sounds perfect.”


End file.
